


Freedom is overrated

by amendax



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amendax/pseuds/amendax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collars and leashes are not necessarily bad. Errgh, not porn.<br/>Pre-RBF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom is overrated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OfficialStarsandGutters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/gifts).



> As part of the Mormor secret santa.  
> To starsandgutters,  
> Hope you will like it.

You were a wild child, capricious and unrestrained, because you were neither momma’s darling nor papa’s boy, or even worse teachers’ pet. You scaled trees , threw stones at cats (but never dogs), stole birds eggs, crawled in mud like a feral child,  _just because you could,_ and waited until evening came when your nanny would predictably drag you back to the cold, unfeeling mansion and make you presentable,  _you sneered at the word, as if you would ever be,_ for dinner.

 

The army was a surprise. It welcomed you with open arms and those gullibly beckoning smiles promising to unlock your potential and give you guidance and mission, sunshine and rainbow masking the violence and death like a glittering wrapper. For an institute valuing so much on obedience, it must be desperate to have muscle with a brain. But then, you were desperate enough to leave this suffocating cage called London.

 

It was an explosive combination.

 

Lying on the sand under the dark starry night, your nostrils filled with the acrid smell of fire and powder, finger resting gently, _lovingly_ , on the trigger, you aimed and fired. The target fell backward and down, unsurprisingly, and you were delirious under the onslaught of endorphin, blood pounding in your ears and you felt _alive._ It was in the middle of the night, when your heart was slow and your blood ran sluggishly, you could feel the collar and leash from those bumbling fools, digging into your neck. You yanked but it didn’t budge.

 

Until one day it did, and it was a miracle you made it to Colonel before they kicked you out, all promises and loyalty broken and lost.

 

You were back to London after nearly a decade, penniless and jobless. London was gloomy and brooding as usual, sweeping all the dirt under the glamourous new buildings that did nothing flattering to skyline. You considered selling your family estate, (you had always hated it), and retired to the countryside where the most exciting thing to do was shooting the cats or birds or whatever moving if there was any, _what an improvement from your childhood though,_ you thought bitterly. Not suited for a quiet peaceful pastoral life, but then, you couldn’t bear a life with collar and leash anymore.

 

There was a nondescript black car tailing you non-subtly. _Fight or flight,_ you flipped the coin, body pumped full of adrenaline, muscle tensed, ready to spring, but the decision had already been made, what is a life without a little risk?

 

A slightly obese man with a bespoke suit that accentuated his belly, was waiting for you in an abandoned warehouse, face half hidden in shadows. _Dramatic sod,_ you snorted, even James Bond was not this old-fashioned.

 

‘Take a seat,’ his crisp, polished vowels hurled you unforgivingly back to your childhood, where everybody spoke with honey dripping and dagger hiding, all the _dears and darlings_ , and the insincere politeness with endless anger and hatred lurking beneath, you gritted your teeth, clenched your jaw because despite what they said, you didn’t actually have control issue. You slouched your body, shook your head in an obscenely undignified way because you knew, from years of unpleasant experience with _those_ people— _old money, prestige, first name basis with royalty_ , this was what they couldn’t bear. 

 

He offered you a job, and you refused. You liked, _adored_ dogs and meant no disrespect, but you just couldn’t live a dog’s life, could you? It was as simple as that. On your way out, a CCTV swivelled to follow you and you thought ‘fucking government’, gave it the finger and smirked.

 

There was another man sitting on your stained sofa in your miserable dingy rented room, immaculately dressed with a deranged and positively lethal smile that made you think of Mephistopheles, _dear god, the public school was starting to catch up with you._ The wind was howling outside like an enraged beast in a cage, battling for its freedom with vigour, huge raindrops splattering on your dust-coated window, blurring the outside to a chaotic mixture of grey and black. You were soaked to bone, dripping water with every step you took. You should snarl at the man and make him leave, he looked breakable, but you knew he wasn’t. He scrutinized you with his intense gaze and you saw the world inside his eyes, fire and passion dancing. And you said yes.

 

The first order came a week later, in a manila folder, with a simple instruction of a clean head shot. You had free reign and it was way much better than hunting rabbits.

 

You were 28 and you were high, or as high as you could get without the assistance of chemicals. Your steady hands resting on the gun, finger on the trigger, gentle but firm and you waited. Patience was a virtue that many didn’t know you possessed. Your finger tightened and you jerked back from the recoil. _Clean shot._

Sometimes, he only gave you a name and you always managed to impress him.

 

You used to have a counsellor at school who was supposed to help you to know yourself and find your mission in life. You considered writing her a thank you letter, and you could imagine how well it went. _Dear Ms Lewis, Thank you for your hard work during my secondary school life. I have found that my mission in life is to impress my psychopathic boss with my creative killing style. I can hardly tell you how well it turns out…_

 

Somewhere in time during the last four year, you lost a bet, became your more than slightly unhinged boss’ fucktoy, moved in with him, became on first name basis with him ( _Jim_ ), and fell in love. All in chronological order.

 

Lying beneath Jim, body slick with sweat and lubricant, you could feel the invisible collar and leash around your neck, and your finger traced them lovingly. You stared at the relaxed sleeping face of Jim, he looked younger with his guards down, almost human and he drooled, on your chest. It was a testament of how much an idiot that you were. You put your arm around his back softly, pulled the quilt up and fell asleep with your heart in your arms.

 

Sometimes, when he looked at you in the throes of passion, you knew he knew. But neither of you would say a word after.

 

_In retrospect, you wished you had._

Jim did not focus on things, he _obsessed_ , like a bloodthirsty hound after prey, and he had the attention span of a hyperactive kid, mind jumping from one to another one, ideas and thoughts all interconnected. So, when Sherlock Holmes appeared in the picture and stayed, you were surprised, very surprised. Jim called Sherlock his doppelganger, and you couldn’t disagree more. But nothing was going to stop Jim, perhaps except himself, once he put his mind to it, so the curtain was raised, the game was on.

 

You had seen death, you had brought death, tirelessly and ruthlessly. This is one of the occupational hazards that you never minded. Life and death, simple, neat, binary. It was simplicity in the purest form.

 

His eyes were dark and bottomless when he looked out of the window, his knees drew up to his chest in an awfully vulnerable position. Your heart twinged at the sight. He turned to you, his mouth curled up in a mockery of smile and whispered,’ Soon, Sebastian, soon.’

 

You were not stupid, which was a common characteristic of thugs-for-hire, but then, you weren’t a simple guard dog. You could see the ends coming together, threads untangling and the web closing in. The match had been set alight and there was nothing you could do. The collar on your neck loosening, the leash straining,

 

_And you shuddered at the thought of being free._


End file.
